


Oceans Apart

by FreakHour



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age of Exploration AU, Cultural Differences, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Language Barrier, M/M, Romance, Shipwreck, first meetings between cultures, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6795973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreakHour/pseuds/FreakHour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the dawn of an age of exploration, two cultures meet on a tiny island when Stiles is washed ashore beneath Derek's lighthouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> There are no primitive societies portrayed in this fic. I don't know why I'm posting this. The title is from the Richard Marx song. I really don't know why I'm posting this.
> 
> There are different languages in this but they'll be de marked with symbols rather than me actually using another language. That's too jarring for dialogue and I want you to be aware of the languages and not alienated by them.
> 
> Shout out to eeames who I still owe that other Sterek story to. That day shall come even if we don't talk as much anymore or watch the show at all.

Stiles clung to the crows nest as the ship pitched violently in the storm. Not a storm like any they had ever seen but then they were on a voyage of discovery. The weather had been devastatingly hot the further south and west they sailed, always chasing the setting sun. Sun… Was it only a day ago he was cursing it? Bemoaning his red human skin to his wolf crewmates who laughed and smacked his raw red shoulders suggesting he ask the Captain for the bite if he was so upset. Even the other human crew had laughed at that one and Stiles had thumbed his nose at the lot of them before climbing up to his high vantage point. It had been he who warned the crew. He who saw the wall of the storm approaching looking like the veil of Death itself come to wrap its shroud about them. They had hauled in the sails and tried to ready the ship for it but the storm easily outpaced them, swallowing them up like the act of the gods it was.  
  
Stiles wiped the rain from his face, glancing around them as the ship seemed to drop out of the sea, the trough between enormous waves sinking fast and taking them with it as the waves around them rose higher than he could see over. White-knuckled in terror, Stiles clung onto the ship as if he could somehow keep it atop the waves. The ship pitched to the side, a rogue wave smashing across the bow. Stiles’ own screams were drowned out by the yelping cry of several of the wolf crew as they were swept overboard and vanished into the inky roiling waters. Someone below was yelling Stiles’ name, he couldn’t climb down now. They were fools to be out yelling for him. He hunkered. If they thought him gone they will save themselves. Closest to heaven, Stiles prayed for every soul on board, every friend, every shipmate, every single person aboard his brother.  
  
The storm must be drowning out the honest prayers of a sailor. The ship shuddered like a living thing, over the screams of the wind he heard a splintering as if some great beast had torn the boat in two. Stiles screamed as the boat heaved over, the mast and himself slamming into the water that seemed to reach for him with frothy claws and for a moment nothing but silence. Stiles swam for what he hoped was up. Disoriented and lost by the darkness. He broke the surface, gasping, yelling. Calling out for anyone!

_**ANYONE!?** _

A dark shape in the water resolved into a piece of deck planking. Stiles clung to it desperately, still kicking his legs and praying for any of his wolf shipmates to hear his screams. He didn’t want to be alone – he couldn’t do this alone! He had nightmares still of the giant fish with sharp teeth his fellows had caught. To them a bite was a joke, they could fight tooth and claw even in the brine but Stiles… He had no claws and only blunt teeth. He could try and talk and confuse it but from what he saw those great beasts hardly cared for conversation.  
  
A wave swamped him and he gritted his teeth against his lack of breath, swirling end over end under the water as he clung to the plank – it would surface. He would surface. He had to!! Stiles might not be a wolf but he was a survivor. He’d survived the journey thus far – _better than most!_ He was thinner but they all were, _he’d live. He’d LIVE. HE HAD TO LIVE!!_ Surface and sweet air that was as full of water as the sea itself but he breathed it. Coughing and gagging he felt the waves surge around him as the wind screamed. Stiles clung to the plank, he clung to life. _He would live._

 

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

__  
  
_._


	2. The Lighthouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awkward Derek is a favorite of mine.

Derek tended his lonely lighthouse on a tiny spit of sand far from the shore. The hurricane had arrived as they always do. He’d been counting the days to the first one since summer began to ease slightly. Not that it ever totally eased up. Not that he cared. Just that he kept the light going even through the gale. Whoever would be foolish enough to sail around these keys in a hurricane deserved to wreck on the reefs and be scavenged for all they were worth by the wreckers. Even those stalwart souls were holed up in their homes several islands up from him. It suited Derek well, his isolation. He was isolated. He had been the cause of his family’s death – trusting a slave. A _human_. He had believed every sweet word she poured in his ears. _I love you, I need you, You and I are of one heart! HAH_. The winds howled and it was like the burning screams of his family and her laughter all over again. He should have known humans were never to be trusted – it was why they were enslaved to begin with.  
  
Weak, spiteful, evil – they existed to try and trick wolves into letting them rule. Kate had wanted to rule… And she ruled now in hell. Checking the light a last time, Derek retreated down the lighthouse to the living area, crawling in the bed and laying in the lamplight. He smoothed his fingers over Laura’s unopened letters. He never read her missives – never replied. Just accepted each as they came and smiled knowing she was alive in the world and safe. She had inherited their mother’s Alpha rank and had taken the slaves they had salvaged from the blaze, their maimed Uncle, and little sister; they'd gone North to begin again. If the paper was anything to judge by she was doing just fine. Laura would never be tricked by a human. Never believe they could feel anything but fear and hate for them.  
  
Not like _him_. Not like her fool of a brother. He pressed the paper to his face and breathed the faint scent of pack, not for comfort but for punishment. Rolling to his side, he turned the lantern low and slept with the screams of the hurricane filling his ears.  
  
It took almost a day for the hurricane to pass. _It must have been enormous._ Derek thought. That definitely didn’t bode well for the season of them to come if the first was so terrible. From the height of his lighthouse, Derek scanned the horizon with his telescope. He checked to see if there was any sign of a wreck out on the miles of reef that surrounded his small island. He had been happy to find trees still standing on his mile-long island. The cypress and palms did well against it. His gardens were obliterated though. Good thing he had mostly harvested everything. He sighed and leaned against the railing, taking stock of the work he needed to do to put things back in order. He didn’t want to have to row all the way over to the nearest town on the mainland just to get some fresh vegetables for his larder while new ones grew in. Sighing, Derek turned back to the sea and paused. There was an alarming amount of debris washed up on the south side of the island. _Gods I bet it was some idiot fisherman…_ He thought and headed down to check it out.  
  
The best thing about his job – besides the isolation – was his island. Derek loved his island. On sunny days he would shift completely and ramble across it, enjoying the trees and salt grasses. He trotted over the small dune and skid down the opposite side, scenting the air as he went. The smells were unfamiliar, oak, sea salt, strange spice from the cracked barrel, and…. Human. Derek closed his eyes and almost retreated back home. Some idiot sent his slave out to fish in the hurricane – TYPICAL. He really didn’t want to have to deal with a dead body… But sooner rather than later, later always smelled worst. Petulantly, Derek stepped through the wreckage to where his nose said the body was. He found a young, pale, bedraggled boy clinging to a bit of board like it was his mother. Derek lifted the bit of wood away, or tried to. The body clung to it desperately even in…  
  
“Shit he’s not dead!” Derek blurted out, dropping the plank back on him, backpedaling. He hadn’t seen a human in well over a year. He hadn’t spoken in that long either, startled at the sound of his own voice after so long. Inching closer, he prodded the boy who was still unconscious and didn’t wake even with the abrupt jostling. “Shit…” Derek whispered.  
  
Derek paced in front of the body – the boy!! – for a moment. There was nothing for it. Inevitable, his sister Laura would say. Resigned, he scooped the boy up, startled by how feather light he was but wiry, no stranger to hard work. That was good. He’ll check his collar and then find the owner and…. Derek stumbled to a stop halfway up the dune, staring at the boy’s stretched pale neck… A neck devoid of the collar that should be there. There were no uncollared humans. Not anywhere! Not ever! Even babies were collared. A boy this size... He’d have his permanent collar on! They were bolted on! Derek was so startled he dropped him, backing away.  
  
“Shit! Sorry… Sorry!” He crouched down and put a hand on the bare neck, “Sorry… Are you ok? Still unconscious? Ok good… Good… Why am I talking to you? You’re unconscious. Crap… Laura was right being alone and so far away is making me weirder…” Derek scooped him back up and headed for his lighthouse. He’d find out who the radical owner of this slave was when he woke up… _Unless he addled him dropping him like that… But it was on sand – it should be fine… Right… Fine…_ Derek shook his head, _Stop with the internal dialogue too dumbass._


	3. Where Sea Meets Shore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter the two languages! Stiles speaks "+Like this.+" While Derek speaks "^This way.^"
> 
> "Anything like this is the ancient wolf tongue." Think like a root language that's not dead - like Latin. How WELL they speak it will vary, obviously. Sort of like how I allegedly can say what's up whore in Latin. Yanno... Allegedly.
> 
> The same goes for learned languages, Stiles is a motivated linguist.

Stiles swam back to consciousness; it felt like he was still at sea. Pushing for the surface he gasped, eyes wide at the dark ceiling high above, his heart racing. A rough blanket under his hands, soft pillow under his head; Stiles wiggled his toes nervously. Still had his feet, good... Glancing around he spotted a man watching him, his posture wary and listening. A wolf. Relief crashed over Stiles' frayed nerves, he was safe then.

"+I'm alive.+" Stiles announced in a croaking voice, coughing and trying to clear his achingly raw throat. "+Water?+"

Derek stared at the boy, he was speaking but not any language he'd ever heard. Who would teach their slave to speak gibberish? "^What?^" he asked intelligently and was rewarded with a stupefied look from the boy. "^This is no time for games boy. Who is your owner? What does he call you?^"

Derek felt a bit uncomfortable by the smile of sheer delight spreading across the boy's face as he gestured madly.

"+Oh my Gods you're _new_!! Not you know _new new_ , new to me new!! Wow we sound nothing alike!! That's! That's AMAZING!! You're amazing! I...+" Stiles was thrilled, he'd survived and landed safely somewhere new... But the storm, his crew... His pack. They were gone...

Derek leaned back as the boy babbled in his fast paced gibberish, hands moving as much as his mouth as he spoke, clearly excited. Then it was as if he had drained his cup of joy and was lost in the dregs of despair. He watched as the boy's whole being seemed to knot up with distress, it put Derek's nerves on edge and started pushing him into his shift. He fought it until the boy slumped, his head dropping back as he keened like a wolf would. Shifted halfway, Derek's hackles rose and his ears laid back, actual yipping wolf-speech coming from the boy, ancient wolf mourning cries, the lamentation of a lost pack. It felt as if the goddess Luna had a hold on his soul, rough shaking it as he relived the loss of his pack, he and his sisters keening that same refrain to the uncaring skies. That a human knew it was _anathema_ , the worst transgression Derek could imagine. Humans were lesser beings, they couldn't know the gods as wolves do, they could not know their ancient tongue. The words of the One Pack, from which they all descend falling oddly accented from a human made him bare his teeth, blue eyes flashing in the dimness of his home.

Stiles keened his heart out to the sky, mourning his brothers of the ship - his pack was gone, he was alone. He had no tears for them, they had died of a surplus of salt water, they wouldn't need him to add to it. Seeing his savior shifted, dark fur and flashing eyes, soothed Stiles. He shifted forward to the snarling wolf, clearly he was upset for him. They weren't pack but Stiles would take any closeness he could find now.

Derek almost choked on a snarl as the boy suddenly lurched forward at him, his arms up as if to embrace. It was madness! No human would ever NOT cower at a wolf's teeth let alone the menacing growl Derek was effecting. They boy slipped his fingers along Derek's sides as he tried to enfold him in an embrace. MADNESS, this human was clearly mad!! Derek pushed away without touching the infected human. He backed up to the door and pressed against it as the human's forward motion carried him over the edge of the bed onto the floor.

"What...?" Stiles whimpered in the ancient wolf tongue still. Why was the wolf moving away? He'd never met a wolf incapable of giving sympathy with one who had lost a pack, it would be cruelty beyond comprehension. Stiles scrambled back upright, reaching for the wolf.

Derek slammed backwards against his door, turning and fumbling with the lock before rushing outside and slamming the door after him.


End file.
